


My World

by theosymphany



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: 1 July fic, July1stNivanfieldDay, M/M, Nivanfield, POV First Person, Reflection, Slice of Life, Social Isolation, living with the virus, lockdown - Freeform, reflections
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:14:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25015288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theosymphany/pseuds/theosymphany
Summary: At a time where they are cut off and socially distanced from the world, Chris finally learns of Piers' secret of coping with isolation, and how it had begun all those Julys ago.
Relationships: Piers Nivans/Chris Redfield
Kudos: 26





	My World

It’s that day of the year. The First of July. A day once associated with heartbreak and loss.

Neither of us really acknowledge it, but we carry on. Crisis after another. Outbreak after another. We take it in stride.

This year has been stranger than the rest. I’m not used to having an outbreak with no target and no action, where the best thing that I can do- indeed, the best thing that anyone can do, is to do _nothing_.

I grab my fishing rod, his too, with our box of flies and our cooler box. I don’t know if we’ll catch anything, but why brave the shops when dinner is only a catch away?

We go for a walk, the quiet, familiar route to the river. I’m grateful for our remote location, that we won’t have to worry about running into others. Our worries makes no difference to our boy Ruff. He’s happy paddling along, walking himself and letting his nose take him wherever he finds fun.

We sit, and I go through how to fly fish again. I’m a bit rusty at it too. We wait in the quiet, side by side in the late afternoon sun.

He doesn’t say much. Neither do I. It used to be awkward, this silence. I’d sit there wondering if I forgot something, if I had said something mean, if he’s angry with me. I think about the thoughts going through his head. He’s always thinking.

Nowadays, it’s mostly a comfortable silence. It’s good to connect through silence. I know now that our bond is close enough now that we don’t have to do idle small talk, and just say what's on our minds. When we want to.

We watch the water ebb and flow away. The occasional glint when it catches a ray of sun. The moving and calming sounds of the water through the otherwise serene graces of the evening.

Fly fishing is a bit more active than bait fishing, but the movement is nice. Heavens know my back needs the stretch from sitting so much. The sun is nice too. I can’t be inside too long and he knows it.

His hazel eyes are deep and quiet. Once in a while he’ll track what Ruff is up to, but the rest of the time he’s mostly staring into the stream, or at me, watching me work. He goes through the motions with his rod, but concedes I’m the better fisherman.

Somehow I don’t feel as proud of that as I used to.

The fish must eventually be hungry because it wasn’t long before I managed a catch on the line. We’re both excited. He managed a catch soon after. The right sizes too. A few flicks of my knife, and dinner is sorted.

You really get to know someone after eight years in a relationship. Or partnership. We have the banters, sure, and the occasional argument, but we had grown, together. I’m not as cool as he is in this season of social isolation. He knows it too. He’s been gentle even while I had my few tantrums. It’s kind of weird. I’m meant to be the mature, seasoned one, but yet he leads that by miles.

We head back on our little journey, and Piers’ shrill whistle bought Ruff back from his exploration and exercise.

I clean our catch and put them on the grill outside. I even smoked it up a little. Takes longer, but we have all the time in the world when everything is slowing down.

Piers says he want to make a dessert. An apple crumble. I told him I can’t wait.

By the time I’m ready to load our plates he’s done and has tucked it in the oven. I’m already anticipating the next course, as amazing as this fish is going to be.

We sit and eat. There is no hurry. I finally decide to talk.

“How is it that you are at home all day, sometimes never leaving the house and not going crazy?” I ask. It wasn’t the first time either.

He is methodically checks for bones in his fillet and shrugs. “I’m an introvert. I’m in my own world a lot.”

“Sniper skills,” he adds with a small grin. “You’ve seen me stalk a target for days. Not moving.”

I nodded. I may be a decent shot with a sniper rifle, but I definitely am no sniper. Fishing and hunting is probably the longest I’m willing to stalk a target. Any longer and I get weirdly itchy in all the wrong places. My body can't do it, neither can my mind.

“I’ve had way more practice.”

“At Fort Bragg?” I asked.

“Nope. In our very own observation facility.” He said quietly, not looking at me.

It hit me like a Tyrant. He’s right of course. This lockdown is nothing compared to back when he was in quarantine. Jill too after we took care of Wesker. It wasn’t lock down in a house even. It was like a jail cell. With little privacy, no contact. Except for me.

“I remember where you would be my only visitor for days.” He said quietly, his voice not betraying any hint of emotion though I know it lurks deeply. “I grew to really treasure every minute of my time with you."

“Sometimes dark thoughts go in my head. That the world has forgotten about me. There is no end to my isolation. The BSAA will have new things to worry about. New cases. New outbreaks. I’m scared… that they’ll never go away. But you come in, all tired and sleep deprived, and in need of a shower at times, and you help me forget. We just talk, or let words run out, and sit staring at the walls. We couldn’t have physical contact even, but we’d touch through the glass still, and I’m imagining feeling your warmth on the other side.

“Those were my happiest days in an otherwise long, gloomy season. Others would have gone insane.”

I put down my fork, run my hand along his forearm and make little circles with my thumb over the back of his hand. Yes, it was unfair. He couldn’t go anywhere. Heavens know I wanted to get him out. reak him out if I could. Despite having my freedom, all I had wanted to do when I had free time was to go see him, it was duty, but it was more. He needed me, even though he rarely admitted it. How did he manage to hide so much of his wants from me?

“Has anything changed?” I asked myself, out loud. “You used to be all that mattered. And now… I have you by my side, and I still think it isn’t enough…”

He looked into my eyes, I see a flicker of something as the hazel flashed to gold for a moment. It seems like sadness, but not quite. I suspect he’s choosing his words carefully.

“You have changed Chris. So have I.”

“Our relationship has not.” He quickly added. “I still adore you, and I know you love me to pieces.”

I blinked, taking a long sip of water and trying to figure myself out.

“I remember we used to stare at the white walls, and you’d tell me about the world outside. You’d talk about your week, the people you meet, the reports you had to write. The joys and woes. You’d talk about Claire, and Sheva and Parker, whinging about the higher ups and everything else. I lived through you. You were a connection to the outside world. The one reminder that I’m not totally isolated, and forgotten in there.”

I remembered. It hurt to see him so lost and abandoned. I didn’t’ know what to say but he wanted to hear the details of my days. Now I know why.

Each time at the end of the visit, he smiled, but I can see the sorrow in his eyes, and it pained me. My eyes used to moisten every time I turned away after we said goodbye.

Heck, I’m misting up thinking about it, and that’s OK.

“We talked about the future together.” I said, feeling a lump in my throat as I tried to get the words out. “We talked about where we’d live, what sort of house we’d have. The massive garage for your bikes and sports cars. The hunting cabin in the woods.”

“The holidays we’d take,” Piers added. “We’d go skiing in Canada in the winter, then you’d try to sneak a flight to the Caribbean to build your flight hours. We’ll go to Australia when it got real cold here and learn to surf in their summer.”

“Yes, we had a world out there to explore. A future to build.” I nodded.

“That’s why you feel pent up.” He said.

I didn’t join the dots and he knew full well I didn’t.

“You were my gateway to the world outside. Chris. Now we’re both shut in, there isn’t a gateway to the world outside. It’s just us here. So you feel lost. You feel disconnected, that you’ve lost something big. A connection to a meaningful future. To hope. A sense of normality.”

My heart sank a little at how familiar he rattled off the reasons. It wasn’t him trying to get in my head. These thoughts were not new to him at all.

“You’re right. I suppose.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“I know I’m right.” He said, clearing his plate and leaving it there.

“How should I cope?” I asked. I think I knew. But then again, I like him to be the know it all and tell me what he thinks I should do sometimes.

“You are coping.” He said. “You’re content enough for yourself. Fishing, baking bread, keeping Ruff exercised, poking fun at ourselves.”

“You wanted to be the provider for me still. You wanted to take me outside, to camp, to hike, to ski, to surf, to travel. To take me to nice steakhouses. To beautiful parts of nature. To sleep under the stars. You’re annoyed at yourself you couldn’t do that for me anymore.”

It sounded strange, but it made sense. I somehow took it upon myself to show him the world. The moon and stars too, if I could. Maybe that’s what pilots do. We have a vantage point from which we see the world beneath us, and there’s no other way to convince someone else how spectacular it is than to show them.

“But we are having fun camping in the yard. Baking our own bread. Eating your catch. Having a nice cosy dessert.” He went to check the oven.

“Life’s to be lived still.” I linked my arms behind my head as Piers took our empty plates anyway and rinsed them.

“Having you is more than enough Chris.” He said, staring sincerely as he dried his hands.

"You know that saying Chris?" He asked, bracing himself on the counter. "To the world you may be one person; but to one person you may be the world."

“You were... you are my world, and whether my world is as small as that observation cell, or as large as the universe, I told myself eight years ago, that it didn’t matter when you’re there with me.”

I got up and hugged him in my arms. Like we did all those years ago when he was thin and frail and fragile in my arms, and I was his protector, and guardian.

Now, he’s filled out some. But I love him. I want to give him all I can in the world. All of my heart.

I tell myself to learn from him. That he can be my anchor as we drift through the torrents of life. It doesn’t matter if we travel far and wide, if at the end of the day it’s home we return to.

I let go. Soon, the smell of cinnamon and warm apple crumble calls me back from my thoughts as he sets a bowl in front of me, topping with ice cream.

I watch him mix his ice cream through to a delicate balance, and those pink lips blowing gently before savouring it. I forgot I’m staring at him until he licked his lips suggestively and winked.

I feel like I should say more. Tell him the thoughts that ran through my mind, of how grateful I have him on this journey, and that I’m happy being here with him, and not in Canada, or the Caribbean, or Australia. That I’ll take it one day at a time, and that tomorrow we can still talk about the future.

There are a thousand thoughts and emotions that I don’t allow myself enough time to process, because all I know is that I’m winking back. His shoulder is pleasantly resting against mine, I’m going to savour this wonderful bowl of crumble Piers made for me, and the best is yet to come.


End file.
